


I Want To Know Who You Are

by lavenderblossom



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: ??? I guess???, F/F, Inspired By Peaky Blinders, Peaky Blinders AU, Romance, Some angst, badassery, because this is the au my heart needs, for sure, i just really want to write a full fic for this now, i managed to fit it in lmao, there is kissing dw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 17:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19480441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderblossom/pseuds/lavenderblossom
Summary: Birmingham 1919.Anne Lister, unlikely head of the notorious Lister family of Birmingham, is in her prime running her thriving family business Lister Company Limited. It is in the fog shrouded morning of Small Heath's cobbled streets, that she meets the enticing new barmaid at The Garrison Pub, Ann Walker.





	I Want To Know Who You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Peaky Blinders is iconic and Gentleman Jack is iconic, so why not combine the two?? This is just a start, but if people like it I might turn it into a fully fledged fic!

**Birmingham, England, 1919**

The early morning fog lay shrouded over the streets of Small Heath, puddles of rain mixed with grime decorating the cobbled streets. The terraced houses stood strong along the street as they had for decades, seeing industrialisation and factories, poverty and war, life and death. The tenants of Tennyson Road began to rise, women hobbling about with baskets of washing in their arms and boys running their hoops along the mismatched cobbles, dodging the occasional splash from a puddle. Voices echoed across the street as it seemed to burst with life, wives conversing about their daily chores and the latest cleaning tips – _“Nah Charlotte I swear to you, I added a dash of flour and the stain was gone! A miracle I tell ya”_ – while their children ran around them, giggling as the washing brushed the tops of their heads. The towering factories loomed in the distance, the Small Arms Factory on Armory Road steadily pumping smog into the atmosphere.

This was life for the people of Small Heath in 1919, a sense of normalcy that filled the street with a sense of comfort and warmth despite the not-so-distant shadow of war still lingering on the people’s minds.

War, though it was over, was still everywhere. As the wives came out to hang their washing, so did the widows, shadows under their eyes that months of mourning still had not washed away. Men sat on the corners in suits that they had been given when their bravery in war was commendable, their existence now seemed a nuisance if they could not find work. Jewish refugees were given dirty looks as they emerged onto the streets, children being guided away from them as people muttered and moved swiftly around them. Yes, war had left her lasting impact on the people of Birmingham as it had across the nation and even the world, and it was in this post-war vacuum that Anne Lister sought greatness.

A hush fell over Tennyson Road as Anne Lister rode in on a striking black horse, dark as the night. She was immaculately dressed, wearing a suit of charcoal grey and polished boots, brunette locks gathered under a Hatteras cap sitting low on her forehead. The Lister family were the talk of legend, Alfred Lister establishing their presence in Birmingham almost 100 years ago. When Jeremy Lister’s wife had given birth to not one, but two girls, there was talk of tragedy and downfall, of the end of the Lister dynasty. Anne’s sister Marian certainly was in no place to inherit the family business, favouring dance halls and dresses over bookkeeping and betting. There came a sigh of relief when a young boy, Samuel, was born. Sam was seen as the saviour to the Lister name, a son was in fact what Jeremy needed to secure his place as a success in the Lister line. All that changed however, when Samuel died at the Battle of the Somme in 1916. He died not in his finest suit or with his golden pocket watch, but buried in the damp French mud like the rest of the boys sent out there.

It consequently fell on Anne to take charge of the Lister business, and she had not failed in honouring her ancestral name. She gained a reputation for her quick wit and cold nature, chasing up tardy betters running away when their horses lost when her father’s tears for his dead son had not yet dried. In the 3 years since Samuel’s death, Anne Lister’s name had become one feared by those who crossed her, and admired by those who she protected.

It was for this reason that the tenants on the busy street of Tennyson Road moved out of the way not so much in fear, but in respect of the woman who had done so much for them. She tipped her hat to Margret Wallace, whose husband worked for the Listers before he died in the war, the Lister family now paying her rent. From the street corner, in his shabby suit, George Pitt cracked a smile, the Lister’s employing his services from time to time when their bookkeeper was overrun with work, George had once taught mathematics after all.

Anne continued forth before entering a sheltered courtyard and dismounting her horse. She jumped off of the beast with a practiced leap, before smoothing down her suit and removing her cap. Smoothing her cropped, shoulder-length curls in place she entered The Garrison pub. The pub had allied itself with the Lister family for generations, owned by the Booth family. John Booth – the pub’s current landlord – had himself grown up alongside Anne, becoming one of her closest friends and most trusted allies. It was here, within the padded walls of the Garrison, that Anne Lister conducted her business.

As she walked into the dimly-lit pub, she noticed an unusual silence settled over the building. Clearly no one would be here drinking in the early hours of the morning, save for a few sorry souls, but all sight of John, or even his mother Elizabeth, was missing.

One hand on the handgun she kept tucked in her trousers, Anne cautioned into the room further “John?”. She was met with silence until a figure rounded the corner and she drew her weapon on instinct.

The figure yelped and dropped the glass in their hands to the floor, Anne’s eyes darting down to the shards before looking back up into deep blue eyes. A woman, not much younger than Anne, with delicate golden curls and smooth, ivory skin stood there with her eyes wide. She wore a slightly rumpled white shirt, tucked into a black skirt, a red cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her hands remained suspended in their shocked position, their slight quiver given away by the way the sunlight danced over her delicate wristwatch.

Anne kept her gun steady, “you’re not John”.

“Um- Ah, no, no sorry,” the blonde stuttered. “I’m Ann, Ann Walker, I’m the n-new barmaid”. She continued to eye the gun wearily, chest sagging slightly when Anne lowered the gun.

“Oh,” Anne tucked her gun away, “I’m sorry”

“Oh no, that’s alright. You just gave me quite the fright that’s all” Ann laughed. For some odd reason, Anne could not help but mirror her grin, chuckling and looking down at her feet quickly before meeting Ann’s eyes once more. Her heart fluttered at the blonde girl’s smile, a swooping sensation passing through her stomach.

They smiled at one another for another moment before Anne’s thoughts cleared, “is ah, is John not in then?”

Ann’s smile adjusted as she began fiddling with the towel draped over her shoulder, “oh no, him and Mrs Booth have gone out to deal with a supplier. Said there was some trouble with numbers or something”. She dropped to the floor and began picking up the shards of the dropped glass. For some peculiar reason Anne couldn’t help but kneel with her, helping her carefully pick up the pieces. “Did you have some urgent business for him?” Ann looked at Anne once more with a dazzling smile.

Caught up in Ann’s eyes, Anne’s hands stilled “Oh well-” _Stop it!_ A voice in her head hissed, _you don’t know who this girl is_. That was certainly true, for all her demure smiles and wide eyes, Ann Walker was still somewhat of a stranger to Anne, and strangers were dangerous in a business such as hers. “Not really, I just had something I wanted to talk to him about”.

Ann’s eyes were still locked on Anne’s and for a moment, Anne could swear that the blonde leaned closer until Anne could feel her faint breath dancing on her cheeks, making goose bumps arise on Anne’s skin. Their intimacy was interrupted by a sharp clatter from outside of the pub, causing Ann to jerk back, eyes wide. She hissed with pain and Anne looked down at her hand to see prickles of blood arising on Ann’s smooth palm from a jagged piece of glass.

“Oh I’m sorry” Ann stuttered, removing the towel from her shoulder to frantically dab at her hand, standing abruptly.

“No, no” Anne stood too, rounding on the girl to face her once more, “it’s alright”. She looked down at where Ann’s hand had stilled before looking back up into eyes so mesmerisingly blue, Anne could swear she could see the ocean inside of them. “May I?”

Ann smiled bashfully at Anne, allowing the brunette to ghost her hand over Ann’s before pressing down on the towel securely. In this position, Anne could see the light dusting of freckles that adorned Ann’s cheeks and the flush pink of her lips, slightly chapped but still plump and inviting. Anne felt an urge to lean down and capture the blonde’s lips with hers, to drop the towel through which their hands met and weave her fingers through Ann’s, to tug on her hair until the girl moaned with pleasure. The same voice commanded her thoughts to stop and she cleared her throat before looking down at Ann’s hand.   
  


“You’ll want to wrap that up” Anne looked up to meet Ann’s eyes once more before looking down at their joint hands, “to- to stop the bleeding”.

“Oh,” Ann seemed to snap out of her trance too, gently pulling out her hand from under Anne’s, “thank you”.   
  


Anne took a step back, “it’s no trouble”.

“You know,” Ann cocked her head, “I don’t think I ever caught your name”.

“Anne,” the brunette smiled, tipping her head in greeting, “Anne Lister”.

Something in Ann’s face seemed to shift with that, her eyes widening a fraction and lips pursing slightly. Anne furrowed her brow in confusion, “are you alright?”

“Yes! Yes of course,” Ann quickly fixed her face back into an easy smile, “a thought just- just passed my mind”.

“Ah” Anne eyed Ann once more. She seemed innocent enough, yet her reaction to Anne’s name prompted some questions in the back of her mind. She knew her reputation preceded her, but even so, Ann’s response seemed somewhat strange.

Ann averted her eyes and busied herself by marching over to the bar and busying herself with taking off her watch so as to wrap up her hand. Anne followed her to the bar, picking up the watch carefully as Ann knelt behind the bar to fish out some bandages. With a flourish, she presented them to Anne with a smile, “John says to always keep bandages behind the bar-”

“Because you never know what kind of emergency you can get in a pub full of drunk men” Anne finished, matching Ann’s smile with one of her own. “Trust me I know”.   
  


Ann laughed before fiddling with a strip of bandage, attempting to wrap it around her hand. Anne averted her eyes back to the watch, turning it this way and that. ‘ _Curan’s of Dublin_ ’ the back of the watch read. “You’re Irish?” Anne asked.

Ann froze in her place, movements stilling and eyes looking back up at Anne. “Why do you ask?”

“The make of your watch, says it’s from Dublin”

“Ah,” Ann looked back down at her bandages, wrapping the cotton around her hand with newfound ease. She tucked the corner into the wraps before looking up at Anne with a steady gaze “my grandmother was Irish”.

A silence hung in the air between the two women. For all the voices in her head telling her to be weary, Anne was fascinated by this woman. She let her eyes roam over Ann once more, taking in the smooth lines of her legs in their hosiery and her carefully trimmed nails now resting against the dark fabric of her skirt as she placed her hands on her hips.

“What about you Miss Lister?”

“I’m sorry?” Anne was taken aback. The blonde woman put the rest of the bandages away before tossing the towel into a cupboard behind her. She turned back around and looked at Anne with intent. 

“What’s your story?” Ann now rested her chin in the palm of her uninjured hand, her elbow leaning against the sturdy wood of the Garrison pub. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the pub, alive with a mirth and excitement that tempted Anne further. There was so much she wanted to tell Ann. Those sapphire eyes made her want to pour out her troubles to the woman in front of her. To tell her of the way her bruised ribs ached after a nasty confrontation at the dockyards, the fear she felt with the business' recent loss, Aunt Anne growing weary of her gambling business on the side, of the way she lay awake at night cursing herself for having devious thoughts, picturing her hands running through long, flowing locks rather than short, cropped hair. 

“What is it you want to know?” Anne replied, sitting herself on one of the barstools so her face was level with Ann’s. “I assume you’ve already heard of me”.

“Yes”

“Well then there you go” Anne smiled. 

  
“No,” Ann furrowed her brow, somehow leaning closer to Anne. “I want to know who you are. Who you _really_ are”

“Who I really am?” Anne also moved closer, her lips inches away from Ann’s now. Time seemed to slow as Ann’s warm breath ghosted over Anne’s own lips, the hairs on her skin rising as Ann’s warmth seemed to envelope her.

“Yes Anne Lister,” Ann whispered before their lips met softly over the century old oak of the Garrison bar, one that had seen life and death, war and peace, _loyalty and betrayal_.

“ _Who are you?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Those who have watched the show *know* where this is going but I'd appreciate if you didn't leave spoilers in the comments!!   
> I tried my best to make everything as historically accurate as possible but sometimes "Irish Watchmakers in the 1890s" garners few results on google! Hope you enjoyed and if this is something that people would like to see continued beyond a one-shot then I might start writing a whole fic!   
> (Who am I kidding, I love this AU, I'll probably do it anyway!)


End file.
